


Boiling point

by MadameMeduse



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Background Yennefer / Geralt, Blood, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Rough Sex, Slut Shaming, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28598430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMeduse/pseuds/MadameMeduse
Summary: Jaskier really hates how Geralt takes him for granted. After a furious dispute, their anger unloads...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 160





	Boiling point

The door swung open, hitting the wall with a sharp thud. A painting crashed to the ground and a wave of cold and humidity flooded the candlelit room. Jaskier blinked in surprise. He was leaning comfortably on the high backrest of his plushy chaise longue and his dizzy head only registered that the blonde straddling his groin had flinched as she turned to see who was invading the living room of the minstrel's townhouse.

The minstrel groaned as her soft lap, still covered in way too much fabric, brushed over his half-hard erection eagerly pressing against his trousers. Then finally he tilted his head to see who was disturbing the most promising evening he had enjoyed in weeks.

Geralt. Of course. The minstrel hadn't even known the Witcher was in town. He sighed, cold anger rising in his stomach. He had been trying to woo the daughter of Oxenfurt’s richest man for quite a while; a few sweet compliments, music, and candlelight poetry later, and as she was in his arms, lips red and moist from exchanging heated kisses, finally ready to be thoroughly fucked later, the Witcher appeared and ruined everything.

He was dripping wet, his face contorted by fury and he was quite a sight, with clothing clinging to his broad frame. A very menacing sight. “You. Out!” Geralt bellowed at the girl, and her green eyes went wide with shock and fear. As she slid off Jaskier's groin he hissed again and she fled the room, shoes in her hands. 

Losing the pressure of her wanton body against his left Jaskier unsatisfied and in a dangerous mood. “Geralt. It's no pleasure to see you,” Jaskier ground out, making no attempt to hide that he had hated being disturbed. His cock still twitched against the linen of his braies hidden under his silk trousers, the friction almost painful now. He was already covered in sweat, although he had tossed off his doublet a while ago. “But since you are here, what can I do for you?”

Yes, he was such a faithful friend and he despised himself for it. He observed how the Witcher shut the door, got rid of his coat and his weapons. Geralt was fuming, his eyes ablaze with anger and something Jaskier could only read as sadness. Nevertheless, the Witcher smelled of violence, and maybe on another evening, the minstrel would have been willing to try calming his friend down.

But he wasn't exactly in the mood tonight.

“She cheated on me.” Geralt's words were underlined with cold fury. “Saw her at the 'Three little bells'.”

“Ow?” Jaskier raised his brows and finally rose to his naked feet, strolling through the room to refill his chalice with Erveluce. “And why should that bother me?” He drank and pursed his lips approvingly at the splendid taste. Really, a very good wine.

“It bothers _me_!”, Geralt roared and approached him, his whole body tense with wrath. He smelled of mud and rain and desperation. “How can you be so—”

“So—what, Geralt?” The minstrel smiled at his friend sardonically and took another sip. Was he provoking the Witcher? He sure was. It felt excellent to spit his own anger into the other man's face. “I didn't recall you agreeing on being monogamous?”  
“You know how she is.” Geralt gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists.

“And you are aware of it, too. Change it or live with it,” Jaskier demanded coolly and put the chalice back on the table. He wasn't feeling as calm as he pretended to. The situation set his blood on fire with frustration and disappointment.

“I can't.” The Witcher's answer sounded lame and tired. 

Jaskier didn't even think about being considerate. He had been withholding for years and finally, he snapped.

“No? Find another djinn. Bang another sorceress to pay for her help. Or ask some of your elven friends.” The minstrel scoffed and ignored the Witcher's burning gaze. “But no, you are so accustomed to living in your self-made misery that you're secretly enjoying it.”

Jaskier found it hard to breathe as Geralt approached him, shoulders rigid as if he was expecting another blow. And the minstrel was very willing to lash out at him again.

“And now you crawl over my threshold and ruin my evening. That's what you always do. I can't stand it anymore. I don't want it. It's not my task to help you, again and again, neglecting my own needs and my own life. You brought this upon yourself, Geralt! You hold no respect for me. You think I will always be there for you. You always take me for granted. So fuck off.”

He spun around and his hands crashed into Geralt's chest, pushing the Witcher away with all the strength he could muster. A wild joy pulsed through his body as Geralt indeed stumbled away. But it was only one step and a second later, the Witcher's hands shot forward and grabbed the minstrel's thin linen shirt. Seams ripped open.

Jaskier yelped as he found himself pressed against the wood panels of the room, head spinning with shock. Geralt was suddenly very close, pinning the minstrel to the wall with hands and lower arms. Growling.

“Let go!” the bard shouted and tried to free himself, but there was no way he could escape the Witcher's grip. He punched Geralt's shoulders, but the other man didn't even flinch. Jaskier hazily realized that he wasn't even afraid of how overwhelmed he felt, just angry and on the edge of his nerves. His body was still trembling with the feverish heat of the sexual encounter he had been dragged from so rudely.

“Come on, what do you want? Punishing me for telling the truth?” The minstrel hated how his skin prickled under the unwanted touch of Geralt's warm hands, whispering to him he was an utterly nasty person. For years, he had wanted his friend so badly, tried everything to get him to lay with him. Nothing had worked. Until now. He knew he was playing a dangerous game. A game that would leave him broken-hearted. But still—

His lips curled in a provocative snarl as he whispered huskily, “What now, Witcher? Do you want to do to me what you secretly want to do to her? Because she spread her white legs for another man—Let him thrust into her hot and dripping cunt?”

Geralt's mouth crashed down on him like an avalanche. The Witcher's tongue slid into his mouth, pushed in without accepting any resistance. Sharp teeth bit into the minstrel's lower lip and he gasped, torn between rage and pleasure that surged through his body, pooled in his groin again. They were breathing each other's air, hot and moist, and then their lips met again, licking and bruising hard.

It was blood and spit and wine. It wasn't tender, it was messy and invasive and so good.

Jaskierl shuddered as Geralt's leg pushed between his thighs and the muscled hip suddenly pressed into his groin, into his hardening cock. It was painful, but it aroused him beyond comparison.

“Seems like the two of you share a whore's morale.”

The Witcher buried his head in the bard's neck and his voice was nothing more than a rumble in his chest as the giant man slid his hand between their bodies, the other one still holding Jaskier pinned against the wall. Large fingers roughly caressed the large bulge between Jaskier's thighs, taking over where Geralt's leg had been drawn back. The insult and the rough handling resounded in the minstrel's cock and he felt that he was completely hard now under the probing touches, leaking against his trousers. He tilted his head back, letting it collide with the wall, gasping for air.

It was impossible to bite back a moan as Geralt's breath ghosted over his neck and a hungry tongue licked over his soft flesh before sharp teeth sank into it, marking him like the whore that he obviously was. His eyes rolled back, giving in to the pain that quickly faded as the Witcher's hand commenced to caress Jaskier's length roughly through the fabric of his trousers.

At some point, the minstrel's knees buckled and his breath stuttered. He didn't object as he was spun around and pressed against the cool wall again. Strong arms steadied him and then bent him forward—Jaskier knew exactly what was coming. His hands touched the wall to brace himself and another surge of arousal shot through his veins as Geralt yanked his silk pants and braies down, not even wasting time with opening the tiny buttons.

The bard shivered in anticipation, as the cold air hit his bare ass and Geralt finally gripped his buttocks, kneading the sensitive flesh with rough determination. The Witcher's hands spread him apart, exposed the flesh of his anus, and then retreated for a moment. Jaskier cried out in shock as a large, wet finger pushed into his ass without a warning, but the short sensation of 'too much' tailed off and was immediately replaced by boiling want.

He whimpered as the finger dove deeper, finding him open and ready. Jaskier was a man who had many lovers, both male, and female, and he had never been more thankful for this fact than at this very moment. The finger slid in deeper and took up a slow pace, thrusted and turned, imitated the much larger intruder that was yet to follow.

The minstrel looked down and saw his own cock hanging under his body, swollen red and glistening with precum, but his head shot up and he howled as the finger suddenly curled, hitting his prostate at just the right angle. It was torture, lovely and hateful torture, as the Witcher continued to rub over the sensitive spot inside of Jaskier's tight tunnel and when the bulky man finally retreated, the minstrel felt hollow and terribly exposed. 

He briefly wondered if Geralt would fuck him right here, propped against the wall like a cheap prostitute. But apparently, the Witcher had other plans. Jaskier nearly stumbled over his pants as Geralt dragged him to the chaise longue and shoved him onto the seat on his knees, bending him over the soft backrest with merciless pressure. Jaskier breathed hard and dared to glance over his shoulder. The Witcher was still fully clothed, but as he finally untied his dark trousers and his braies, the minstrel could catch a glimpse at Geralt's erected cock. It was huge, veined, with a thick head that was already as swollen as Jaskier's own prick felt. There was no way this wouldn't hurt.

The minstrel gurgled a sentence that he hoped would come out as a plea for at least a bit of lubrication and gestured at a side table where a vial of oil waited to be used. The look on Geralt's face was thunderous and for a second Jaskier feared that the Witcher would ignore him. He leaned his sweaty forehead on the soft backrest of the sofa and tried to breathe steadily.

The smell of chamomile oil drifted through the air and Jaskier whimpered in relief, only to moan out loudly as the hard tip of Geralt's cock pressed against his hole, pushing in exquisitely slow. The Witcher used one hand to guide his length into him and the other one slowly massaged around Jaskier's entrance, spreading his buttocks wider to have better access.

The stretch was sinful and although it burned at first, the minstrel shuddered with pleasure as the tip finally passed his entrance and glided inside inch by inch. Geralt's fingers dug into his hips, leaving Jaskier no chance to escape as the Witcher's cock passed the minstrel's prostate and dug deeper inside, filling him up to the brink.

For a second, Geralt remained where he was, buried inside Jaskier's ass. The minstrel could feel the brush of pubic hair and the Witcher's balls against his flesh and the drops of sweat that fell on his back. The tension inside his body was building up again and he knew he needed more, but he was forced to be still, trapped between Geralt's hips and the backrest of the chaise longue.

And finally, the Witcher began to move inside and Jaskier's world tilted. The first strokes were slow and surprisingly careful, but the minstrel could feel the pressure against his prostate and the tears of pleasure welling up in his eyes as the Witcher finally put his hips down faster. Jaskier's fingers grabbed the backrest and dug into the soft padding. Muttered pleas, silent gasps left his lips every time Geralt hit that perfect point in his body, and he nearly shouted as the Witcher slipped out all at once, reducing him to a shivering, gaping hole.

The next time Geralt buried himself in Jaskier's body wasn't so careful anymore. He fucked him deep now, punished him for his anger, and his balls slapped against the bard's ass in a steady rhythm. The bard bit his bruised lips to muffle the obscene sounds he was making, but the oily slap of skin against skin, the friction inside of his tight passage left him with no words, but only with moans and gasps.

The Witcher finally let go of the minstrel's hips, grabbing his shoulder with one hand instead, pulling him harder on his solid length. The other hand slid under Jaskier's body, traced down the line of dark hair, and wrapped itself around the bard's swollen cock tightly. Geralt's fingers were rough as they began to slide up and down, matching the pounding that shook Jaskier's body.

The minstrel cried out as a familiar feeling shot through his body. His orgasm built up in his balls, sending spiky shivers through his cock that was pushing into Geralt's hand. His hole clenched around the Witcher's pounding length. The large man groaned now, a feral sound, and rammed himself inside again and again until Jaskier couldn't hold it any longer and came with a shout. Hot seed shot through his cock, sprinkling over his stomach and into Geralt's hand.

Shaken by the spasms that ran through his balls, Jaskier rocked back against his lover's hips, taking him deep inside, although he felt raw and exhausted. He wanted Geralt to come, to fill him up, and the Witcher complied, growling again, thrusting violently. Geralt's cock slammed inside with sharp, desperate movements, and finally, Jaskier felt his hot cum spurting into his hole.

The minstrel collapsed on the couch, not caring about the sticky fluid on his body. He just needed to breathe in the aroma of sex, sweaty bodies, and warm oil. His senses drifted away and he fell into a soft state of satisfaction, eyes closed. Geralt's softening cock retreated from his ass, but Jaskier barely noticed it. His mind swam away, bathed in the bittersweet realization that he had finally got what he wanted for so long. The last thing he felt was the caress of a soft blanket thrown over him and the brush of warm lips on his temple.

Jaskier woke alone the next morning. He had expected it, but it still hurt, like a wound. He accepted the pain, a punishment, like a precious thing to be treasured. He was better for it, afterward. He went back to teaching, making music, and living his life, as nothing had happened.

But one day, on a bright autumn afternoon, a young messenger approached him and handed him a package, wrapped in oiled leather. Jaskier furrowed his brows as he opened it. His eyes went wide as they took in the broken djinn's seal and the short note, penned in familiar handwriting.

_It's done_ , it said. Jaskier grinned. 


End file.
